


Into the Nothing

by warbreaker



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 02:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10800102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/warbreaker/pseuds/warbreaker
Summary: Ten years after the events of Persona 5, Joker remains haunted by the ghost of past mistakes.





	Into the Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Fic titled after the song "Into the Nothing" by Breaking Benjamin.

" _Akechi!_ "

Akira screamed as his hands collided with the black metal wall. He beat his fists against the solid steel, clawing at it with all of the frenzy of a madman. Urgency pounded at the back of his eyes. No matter how many gasping, panicked breaths he took, they couldn't send enough oxygen to his head. 

There was no way around this wall; he had to go through. He _had to._ Akechi was more than just a victim needing to be saved, more than just a bond or a confidant. He was a fellow Wild Card user — someone bound to him by fate in a way that he didn't wholly understand. If he died here, part of Akira would die with him. A vital lifeline keeping him tethered to reality would snap.

The leather of his gloves peeled away from his skin with every meaningless bat and grind of his palms, leaving striking red stains in its wake.

"Joker, stop!"

Ann's voice cut through the ether, if barely. It was distant and muffled beneath the sounds of the ship setting and yawning around them, as well as the gunshots still ringing in Joker's head. With all of the noise, he couldn't even hear the racing of his own heartbeat in his chest.

"Joker!"

There was a cacophony of voices around him now, all calling out from different directions. He both knew and didn't know who they belonged to or what they wanted, but each was nothing more than a distraction. If he could just break down this wall — if he could just _get through_ — 

"We have to go!" It was Ann again, closer this time. Louder. Clearer.

Her hand came down hard on his shoulder, nails cutting through his coat and vest as though they were paper.

No, not nails. _Claws._ They were a panther's claws slicing through his clothes and breaking the skin as Ann tried desperately to wrench him away from the wall. Trails of warm blood trickled down his chest as she fought him, redder than his now tattered gloves or the color of his resolve. His breath stuttered as he exhaled, and his strength buckled beneath hers.

With a final hard tug, she tore him away from his goal, and he stumbled backwards before falling. Joker opened his mouth to scream, but the sound evaporated into the dark nothingness that swallowed him.

He landed with a jolt, eyes snapping open in reflex. The world around him was black and humid, yet somehow shadows still danced across the walls on all sides. At least he could hear the sound of his own voice again, strained and weak as it was, around every fevered panting breath. He pushed himself up into a sitting position in order to get a better view of his surroundings, his vision struggling to adjust, but his mind was racing too quickly to gain any sense of position or location. He couldn't even tell what part of the room he was in, let alone what the room itself actually was.

"Huh… what…" a tiny voice piped up in the darkness. "Oh… Another nightmare, huh…"

Joker should've recognized that voice, familiar yet groggy, calling out to him from the abyss. The name attached to the memory was fleeting, dissipating like smoke between the seams of his closed fist.

_A nightmare…_

How could that be? He could still feel the gentle sway of the ship beneath him, and his ears were still ringing from gunfire. He was there just now, in Shido's palace — he swore he was. But if he wasn't…

If he wasn't, then that meant Akechi was dead — and likely had been for quite some time. If he wasn't, then Joker's worst fears had already come to pass. A cold, sinking feeling, like congealed tar, settled at the pit of his stomach. He was losing his own grip on reality. A part of him was missing, and there was no way for him to go find it again. He felt like a conjoined twin that'd been separated from his brother, with all of the raw nerves still left hanging, refusing to be sewn back up.

"Hey, it's okay," the voice said gently. "You're home."

Joker's eyes darted around the room, but no matter how many times he looked, he couldn't find the source of that voice. He couldn't feel the weight of another human presence lying beside him, and none of the shadows against the walls moved as though they were alive. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was dimly aware of the fact that they were being cast by the ceiling fan above him, but a benign thought like that seemed too surreal to entertain right now.

"Hey!" It was more forceful now. "Earth to Akira! Talk to me! It's Morgana! You remember, right?"

Akira shook his head and raised a hand to his brow. His skin was slick with sweat, and he could feel his own hand trembling against his skull. Of course he remembered Morgana. Of course he did. It would be impossible to forget him, and it made sense, besides. A mostly black cat would be invisible in a dark bedroom like this, and it would be small enough to not have its presence felt immediately. Akira would've breathed a sigh of relief if he'd had any control over his pathetic, wheezing gasps.

The realization dawned on him belatedly: he'd thought of this place as his bedroom. This _was_ his bedroom. Morgana was right; he was home. It was a sickeningly bitter pill to swallow. Panic seized at Akira's chest and throat, and a sense of dread filled the empty spaces that opened around the constriction.

If he really was home, though, that meant that he had weapons at his disposal to fight back. He reached over and fumbled around with the things on his night stand, too shaken to search with his eyes and his mind too unfocused to care. Eventually, his fingers brushed against what he was looking for: a small glass pipe prepared in advance and his lighter. He snatched them both, feeling only a little guilty for having to fall back on them as a crutch.

"Oh," Morgana said. "It's one of those nights, huh? Don't worry. I've got this."

Without even needing to be asked, Morgana leaped over Akira's sheet-covered lap and padded across the mattress towards the window. Akira let him go, welcoming the fresh air as he lit up. Opening the window was Morgana's unofficial job on nights like this. The slight breeze that blew into the room helped clear Akira's mind, and leaving the window open allowed for the smell to escape. He could only imagine the gasket that his landlady would blow if she found out he was smoking in the apartment. She wouldn't even let him have cigarettes indoors.

Once the familiar sensations took over of his brain sinking into the bottom of his skull and his eyelids growing heavy, Akira put his pipe and his lighter back on his nightstand before flopping back down against the bed. The weed did nothing to chase the ghosts away, but at least now he'd be able to get some dreamless sleep and wake up on time for work in the morning.

Still, the tiniest flutters of anxiety bubbled in the center of his chest. Something was missing. He rolled his head to the side to look at Morgana, who was still trying to bat the curtains into submission around the open window. Akira watched him for a bit, inexplicably fascinated, before slowly reaching a hand out towards him.

"Mona…" he croaked breathlessly.

"Yeah, I'm here," Morgana assured him.

Seemingly satisfied with the amount of ventilation in the room — or maybe just frustrated enough to leave the curtains alone for now — Morgana dropped what he was doing and headed back in Akira's direction. With the window now open and more light pouring into the room, Akira could finally see his old friend's face. This time, he was able to let out a real sigh of relief.

"You'll be okay," Morgana cooed softly, though it didn't sound like he was wholly convinced of the idea himself. "I've got you."

He curled up in the space between Akira's arm and his chest, resting his face on his human friend's bicep. Akira weakly raised his hand to Morgana's back, feathering his fingers out across the warm fur along his spine. Something about the sensation of it was comforting to him — of having Morgana close, soft, fuzzy, and breathing beneath his hand. People didn't feel alive in dreams. It was a little funny — and maybe a little sad — that the simple act of petting a cat was a constant yet subtle reminder that Akira was awake, he was home, and he was safe.

He couldn't say the same for Akechi.

"I should've saved him," Akira mumbled almost incoherently.

"I know, Joker," Morgana said. There was a shade of pity mixed in with the regret in his voice. It was the world-weary sound of a friend who's had to endure the same episode on repeat one too many times over the past ten years. "I know."

**Author's Note:**

> This was initially going to be a prologue for a much longer story involving Akechi showing up out of the blue in Joker's life ten years after the game's events, but ultimately I don't have the focus or the time to dedicate to something like that. I may, however, turn this into a series of slice of life snapshots of Joker trying to cope in his every day life. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Thank you for reading!


End file.
